


What if...

by SereneSonata



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Late Night Writing, Original Fiction, Short Stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 08:31:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18133373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SereneSonata/pseuds/SereneSonata
Summary: Mostly late-night, early-morning drabbles (which I write when I can't sleep). Every chapter is an individual story. Mainly based on prompts or weird conversations with friends. What more can I say?





	1. What happens when the mist thickens?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first one I could find. This is an old one, so I might change a thing here or there when I find the time (and will) to do so.

_"What happens when the mist thickens?"_

She felt the cold water droplets hit her face as she ran through the woods, the branches of the bushes hitting her shins. The mist thickened, turned into fog, and as it did, she noticed that the whispers were getting louder, more pronounced. She could almost hear what the voices were saying. Not that she cared. She was far too concerned with her own situation to actually stop and listen to those voices. If only she had known that those voices were on her side. Previous victims trying to prevent other people from sharing their fate. 

Her eyes grew wider as I approached her. She couldn’t see me. The fog was too thick, the trees too close together. But she had heard my movements. I always let them hear me. There was no fun in it if I didn’t announce my presence first. It was just more satisfying this way. I paused at my own choice of words. Maybe "fun" wasn't right. This, the girl seemed to notice. She shouted, “Come and get me! I am not afraid of you!” A lie. Was she trying to convince me? Or herself? Probably the latter. She knew she couldn’t escape. If only she had listened to the others. But it was too late. Her movements became more frantic as she didn’t get the reaction she expected. Or any reaction at all. Now was the time to strike. She tried to fight me as I grabbed her. They always did. But eventually, after a little while, she ceased her struggling and surrendered. Just like everyone else.


	2. During the day, the graveyard is a quiet place. But at night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another old one I managed to dredge up from God-knows-where... I do NOT make any sense when I'm sleep-deprived.

_"During the day, the graveyard is a quiet place. But at night..."_

The graveyard was one of his favourite places. Mainly because the residents didn’t mock him, unlike his classmates. And his teachers. And his siblings. And his parents. And just about everyone else in his town. He liked the calm, quiet atmosphere. “Noli turbare mortuis…”, it said on the gate. He had recently learned that it meant something among the lines of don’t disturb the dead. The rest of the text was unreadable, worn down by the elements over time. Not that he cared, especially if it meant that he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone. As weird as it sounded, the graveyard was his happy place. The only place he was safe from the harsh words of the others. He usually stayed until sunset. Around that time, the caretaker, an elderly curmudgeon not involved in the lives of the townspeople, shooed him away. He always locked the gate behind him so that no one could enter. The boy wondered why, but honestly couldn’t be bothered to find out. He had other things on his mind. So, he never tried to stay the night.

Until one particularly bad day. He didn’t know why, but the people around him were in a more cruel mood than usual. So when school was out, he went straight to the graveyard. There was no way he was going home today. Or tonight. Maybe then they would start to care about him. Probably not. The only reason they would start to notice his absence would be if they needed a punching bag. Sometimes a literal one. He had already found the perfect hiding sport during his many trips to the graveyard. He knew it like the back of his hand. As the sun began to set, the old man called out to him. The boy remained quiet, still as he could possibly be, in his hiding spot behind one of the crumbling walls that stood in the graveyard. Eventually, the man stopped calling for him. He could stay… for now.

As the sun set, the moon and the stars made themselves visible behind the clouds that littered the sky. The boy stirred in his hiding place. It appeared that he had dozed off a little. As he got up, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The moonlight from behind the clouds made the graveyard look even more peaceful than during the day, if not a bit eerie. No matter, it was still better than being at home. After a little while, the boy started walking. Exploring the graveyard during the night would be a different adventure from during the day. Mainly because he didn’t have to worry about the watchful eye of the caretaker, who would likely be asleep at this hour.

It was then he noticed movement in his peripheral. Probably some kind of small animal, he figured. A bat. Something nocturnal. There were plenty of those around, weren’t there? He felt himself getting paranoid. But what for? A graveyard is a place of death. No life here. Corpses only come to life in stories. Surely not in real life? He saw something move again, accompanied by the rustling of the grass. So, it probably wasn’t a bat. But a mouse. “Yeah, that’s possible.” The boy thought to himself. He had to suppress those paranoid thoughts before they became too much. Before they tainted his safe place. He took a deep breath… held it in… and let it go. After repeating this for a while, he managed to calm down.

Until he felt something grab his foot. The boy squeaked. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have stayed here. Maybe… maybe he should’ve gone home. Home. “Yes, home,” he thought, “I can still leave this place and sneak back in at home.” He ran towards the gates as fast as his legs could carry him over the uneven terrain. Running downhill is never easy. Especially in the dark. But he could make it, he was sure of it. And then he saw the gate. Locked. His breathing stopped as his heart sank into his boots. “The old man, he must have the key.” He suddenly realised.

As he turned around to make his way to the groundkeeper’s shack, he saw some patches of earth bulge and tremble. Even crack at some places. Like something was trying to get out. The boy shook his head. His mind must be playing tricks on him, fuelled by the combination of his innate fear and the fact that he was at a graveyard at night. That was the only explanation. As he walked to the shack, he tried to ignore the things he saw and heard around him. He had to. Otherwise he would go mad. That much he knew for sure. It was only when he saw the little stone house that it felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

The boy knocked. And again. And again. Harder this time. He started to shout. Begging the old man to open the door. To let him in. But to no avail. The boy decided to try to find a window and take a peek into the cabin. He found one. No curtains. Now he could peek inside. But it was dark and empty. Almost like nobody lived there. It was then he felt something touch his shoulder. The boy hoped it would be the old man, but deep in his heart he knew it wasn’t him.

As the boy turned around, he saw the decaying corpse of an old man. It was easy to tell that it had already been buried for quite some time. The corpse was almost devoid of skin and pitted by burrowing insects. The smell of rotten meat filled the boy’s nose and even made its way into his throat. He could practically taste it. Its mouth hung open. But it looked like it was trying to speak. Not that it could. Its vocal cords were long gone. Not that the boy would’ve listened. The trauma of seeing something this gruesome shut down the higher-order processes of his brain and awakened a more primal part. A part that told him to run for it. So that’s what he did.

He felt his heartbeat, which he could also hear, in his body. It was like the quick beat of a drum. His breathing became heavy, more laboured, as he ran. He wasn’t in great shape, but fear gave him wings. As he made his way through the graveyard, he could see more and more corpses rising from their graves. They followed him. “Why? Why me?” The boy wondered as he frantically made his was up the hill. As he started to reach the top of the hill, the amount of graves decreased. He might not escape, but at least he could hide out for now. Until daybreak. When the gates opened.

The boy fell down, exhausted from his run up the hill. His heart beating fast, his breathing heavy and laboured, his legs had given out. He couldn’t run anymore, even if he wanted to. Or so he thought. For when he felt something grab his ankle, the boy jumped up and ran down the hill again. Right into the arms of the corpses waiting there for him. The boy tripped and rolled down the hill. He came to a stop as he hit his head against a gravestone. A sharp pain. A warm feeling. Blood? Probably. The corpses moving in on him. He was surrounded. There was no escape. And then, darkness.

He could hear the birds chirp as the sunlight shone through his eyelids. It was morning. He had survived. The boy jumped up in sudden realisation. To his surprise, his head didn’t hurt. Nor did any other part of his body. Strange. Was it all a dream? A hallucination? The boy was sure it was real, that it had happened. The proof was inside him. The storm inside him had gone away and made place for a void. He was calm now. He turned towards the big iron gates. In his pocket, a key. He didn’t need to look at it to know what it would unlock. He just knew. Just like he knew that the old caretaker wouldn’t return anymore. Just like he knew this was home. Although, he might have to invite some people to come over soon. Because even the dead need a little company every now and then.


	3. How mermaids are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching over some of the (very young) kids in my family when I got asked this. Obviously, this isn't what I told them but something I came up with when I remembered the question.

_"Do you know how mermaids are made?"_

She looked back one more time, pleading with the men standing behind her. But to no avail. She could see the fear in their eyes, it consumed them all. She damned them all. Damned them and their ridiculous superstitions and traditions. A blanket of guilt fell over their faces, mixing itself with the already present fear. Hope filled her as she saw the men doubt their decision. Maybe she wouldn’t have to die after all. It was then the man she assumed to be the captain shook his head, hardening the expression on his face. He poked her a couple of times with his swords to “encourage her”. Despite the ropes she was bound with, she could still feel its sharpness. There was no getting out of this. She was going to die. It was inevitable.

Turning around, she made her way to the edge of the plank. It moved slightly under her weight. As she took her final breath of air, she jumped into the cold dark water. The wind moved her hair and skirts as she fell down and hit the sea. Then, there was only a cold weightlessness. She had gone under. Her instincts forced her to hold her breath, even though she knew the effort would be fruitless. People wouldn’t see her, she wouldn’t be saved. Meanwhile, her body had started telling her to breathe. It craved air. She tried to tell it no. Tried to delay her fate by a few minutes as she felt the spasms in her throat. It was then she could hold her breath no more.

The water wasn't just around her anymore. She could feel it filling her lungs. Snaking its way down her throat into her lungs. The cold that surrounded her was now inside her. Her body kept telling her it needed air. Panic struck as it forced her to breathe again. Still no air. After what seemed like an eternity, she felt her movements slow down. Her legs wouldn’t move anymore. Her vision, while present, was fading. She just hung there in the water, her head back and her mouth open. There was no need to close it anyway. Death was close.

As she hung there, waiting for death to come, she spotted a pair of eyes. They didn’t look like the glassy, dead eyes of a fish. They looked curious. Intelligent. Almost human. But that was impossible. No human could live underwater. And creatures like mermaids weren’t real. A hallucination, she figured, her thoughts moving as slowly as her body did. Suddenly, she jolted awake. A presence. Both in her body and mind. It offered her a second chance. Her survival instincts kicked in. She accepted. It seemed almost… pleased? But she had no time to worry about its response as she felt her soul being ripped out of her body, having it make place for what she could only describe as the purest form of wrath she had ever felt. The deal was made. Her soul for another chance at life. But not the life she was used to. Not the life as a human woman. This much she could tell as she felt her legs merge together and her teeth begin to sharpen. It also slowly became easier to breathe. And to see. As her vision improved, she noticed that more pairs of eyes appeared. Then she saw their owners. Women. Just like her. All of them thrown overboard. Just like her. They were the same. They were sisters. Sisters of the sea.

One of the women cut the ropes binding her. At the same time she felt her transformation complete. She was ready to join them. They had a goal. Find ships. Sing with their voices hoarse from the salt water they breathed. Lure the sailors to an early and wet grave. Do to them, what they did to us first. Prevent this fate worse than death from happening to another woman. It was time for revenge.

 


End file.
